


Form And Function

by Aichi



Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Bondage, Dragons, F/M, Femdom, Pegging, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:55:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26066119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aichi/pseuds/Aichi
Summary: "Science" is their excuse, as usual; the effects of Dragshifts on sexual function and responses are sorely under-investigated territory.
Relationships: Morfessa/Luard
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Form And Function

**Author's Note:**

> It felt a little disingenuous to tag it but in case it's a necessary warning for anyone: there is like a tiny brief bit of spanking here.
> 
> Anyway Hi It's Luarfessa PWP For Science AGAIN featuring Dragdriver this time. Are you tired of this setup yet. Because I still have three more Luard forms to go.

Lady Morfessa’s room is the most luxurious in all of Castle Eingang, Luard thinks. Its fine silken bedsheets and ornately carved, meticulously-organized bookshelves are only befitting the Dragwizard enclave’s highest ranking and most talented veteran, and it owes its condition not only to her station, but to her nature: Morfessa leaves nothing half-done, and nothing out of place.

That’s why, today, they’re not in Morfessa’s room, they’re in Luard’s. She’d insisted that he tidy it before she so much as set foot inside, but even now, after all his sullen, back-breaking efforts shifting stacks of half-read books and abandoned, still-bubbling beakers that he’s sure he could remember the contents of if he tried – probably – even _now_ she’s still looking around his haven with disdain.

Or was, when he could see her expression. It’s hard to judge once he’s been forced face-down into his pillow, which, okay, maybe doesn’t exactly smell the freshest, but is it really fair to criticize _him_ when people like Uscias exist? Luard wants to remind her of all the times Uscias has returned to the castle after sleeping rough and proceeded to track mud all over her carpets, but his complaints are muffled and distorted by the ring gag fitted neatly behind his fangs, and already he’s starting to soak the pillow in his own drool.

 _Science_ is their excuse, as usual; the effects of Dragshifts on sexual function and responses are sorely under-investigated territory. Luard suspects it’s not because no one has _tried_ so much as because no one wants to be the one to publish their findings, but Morfessa has never had those kinds of inhibitions, and no one in their right mind would turn someone of her caliber down for any kind of collaborative research, least of all _this_.

“I _told_ you this would happen,” Morfessa says from somewhere near the foot of the bed. “Look, you’re already tearing the sheets.”

He can’t look, of course, but he believes her. This is why she’s _suffering_ by setting foot in his disgusting squalid hovel of a room, after all, because otherwise the spines and claws of his half-shifted form are liable to tear her precious silk sheets to shreds. The only answer he can offer is an embarrassing groan, and with the position he’s trapped in it’s like the vibration of it goes _straight_ to his already burning, green-scaled–

“Enough of that,” she says, and the sharp sound of her palm on his ass hits him before the pain itself. His whole body jerks, face pressing into the damp pillow, arms straining reflexively, uselessly where she’d bound them against his back in what she called a box tie, because it’s never _just sex_ with her. He’s not complaining, but he’s more than willing to call her out for predictability.

Almost as if she knows what he’s thinking, she swats his ass again, and a couple more times for good measure. His body’s response isn’t _pain_ so much as simple _shock_ , but it shoots down his spine and makes his tail lash reflexively nonetheless.

“Next time,” she muses, trailing a leather-gloved finger up and down the length of it, “I’ll be sure to tie this up too.”

Another groan escapes him as her fingers brush close to the base, paralyzingly close to his hole, and he’s glad scales can’t blush because otherwise he’d definitely be red all over, everything is so _hot_. It never feels like this when he’s alone, and he’s still not sure if it’s some kind of draconic influence - their bodies are naturally imbued with fire, after all _–_ or if it’s just _her_. Every touch of hers is deliberate, calculated, just like everything she does, and it’s almost infuriating to know he can’t resist her. Not when she brings both her hands to his tail and wraps her fingers around it, squeezing and stroking towards the base in what is both an electrifying pressure against his most sensitive scales and a cruel tease because _you wish I’d do this to your cock, don’t you?_

He does, but he settles for gurgling mournfully into his pillow.

Although she’d left his tail free, she’d had the foresight to restrain his wings; clamped closed with an intricate lattice of rope, they’ve been secured to the box tie to prevent any instinctive flapping and flailing. _I’ll work on a setup that will let us observe that particular reaction more safely in the future,_ she’d said, but what he’d heard was a very clear _you’re going to get tied up again, and it’ll only be even tighter and more embarrassing_. She’d been right to do so, though, as usual, because the shudder that rumbles through him as her hands find the scales at his wings’ base is almost _violent_. A breathy snarl hisses from his throat, disappearing into the pillow, and despite his efforts to brace himself, one foot rakes back against the bed, a dry ripping noise letting him know he’ll have plenty of cleanup work to do later.

At the moment, he can’t bring himself to care.

His bound wings shake uselessly at his sides, their energy transformed into the heaving shakes that wrack his entire body as she explores his scales, explores _him_ , her fingers pressing and teasing at his lower back, circling around the bases of his wings as if she were trailing a burning iron across his flesh.

“Interesting,” she purrs. “So this is a particularly sensitive spot, mm?”

And then a hand slides lower, back below his tail, across the curve of his ass, and he can’t stop himself from crying out because he’s suddenly hyper-aware of his cock again, of how stiff and needy and untouched it is, hanging below his raised hips, dripping with something wet and slick that Morfessa is no doubt going to want samples of eventually. But she ignores it, her fingers instead finding his hole, equally slick but this time with traditional lubricant. _That_ ’s something else she’d made him prepare himself, once he’d tidied the room to her (relative) satisfaction, but at the very least, he’d been able to do it in private. He’s not sure he’s ready to face the way he feels about the image of himself lying there and fingering his own ass while she watches with her analytical, unflinching gaze.

“Mm. Well done,” she says, admiring his work as she spreads his cheeks, thumbs digging into the scales on either side of his hole. He doesn’t have time to be offended at the hint of surprise in her tone before something cold and firm presses against him.

“No whining.” Her voice is firm now, but with an air of guidance and control, not anger. Her cock, all silicone and magic, stretches and burns as it enters him, and although its first touch had felt like an icy dagger, it seems to warm in response to his body. _Or maybe he’s just that hot._ Every inch of skin and scales itches with it, and the strain of the restraints only amplifies everything; pain and fire intermingled into an all-consuming _need_ that fills his throat and chest and wings and cock with sparks.

He barely hears her when she explains, over the roar of blood in his ears, that it’s not _just_ a cock, it’s designed to take measurements of body heat and other vitals, you know, for the experiment, which is still a thing that they’re doing, right now, as she pulls out almost to the tip and slides back in again. Luard could have laughed, but his arms and wings and jaw are _aching_ , growing stiffer every moment they’re locked into their cruelly-enforced positions. The only outlet for it, for _any_ of it, is his tail, thrashing back and forth as she fucks him. She goes slow and deep, taking her time, but instead of a relief from the assault of sensation, it only feels like another torment, as if she’s planning to drag things out until the heat grows so strong that it overwhelms him and either he passes out or the ropes melt right off his body.

She can keep going as long as she wants, after all, with her torture in the name of science. She’s never seemed to care about coming. _That weakness is all yours_ , she would tease. And maybe she’s right, maybe he is weak, because he’s already _there_ , already teetering on the edge.

For a moment, in the midst of fiery haze, he almost wishes he was on his back, looking up at her as she thrust into him. The heat is getting to him, clearly, yes, that has to be it, because why else would he be imagining the satisfied smirk on her face as she pushes his legs up, practically bending his body in two, her breasts rising and falling as she _takes_ him?

“Need some help?” she asks, and the words almost pass him by entirely at first. At some point, he’s started trying to rock his hips against her, to fill the empty pit that hollows him out every time she pulls back. His body, such as it is, because half of it is another being’s scales and claws and fire, thrumming with magic – his body has long since decided what it wants, and it wants _her_ , and he’s not going to disagree with it.

Not when he’s this _close_.

A moan escapes between the pillow, now absolutely soaked, and the gag, and thankfully Morfessa seems to take it as a sign. One hand, still gloved in sleek, luxurious leather, finds his cock, and he sobs with the rawness of his relief. This time, she doesn’t tease, as if she’s rewarding him for his efforts. _You should be grateful_ , he imagines her saying from somewhere in the back of his mind. And he is. He’s never been more grateful in his _life_ as she takes him tight in her fist and pumps him up and down, thumbing his tip while somehow avoiding the small barbs that decorate it. The pressure is exhausting and at the same time exhilarating, winding his whole body tighter and tighter _and hotter_ until there’s nothing left to do but–

– _break_.

One last jerk of his hips, and he’s _there_. Morfessa’s free hand holds his thrashing tail down against his back as that final, overwhelming shudder claims him, the tightness in his cock venting itself in one, two, three burning spurts that leave his legs suddenly so weak they feel almost detached from his body.

When his cock finally stops twitching in her grip, he slumps into the bed, entire body unravelling all at once. Even if he wanted to, he’s sure he couldn’t even muster the energy to moan. For what feels like a long time, he lies still, Morfessa mercifully - but not _that_ mercifully - pulling halfway out of him. Her hands trail up and down his outer thighs, and if he didn’t know better he might have said the gesture was an act of comfort. But he does know better, which means it might still be that, or it might be literally anything else. The only thing Lady Morfessa has ever been transparent about is science, and the fact that whatever they have here isn’t entirely _that_.

He drifts, for a while, somewhere between lingering pain and total exhaustion. He’s still restrained, his aching fangs still clenched around the gag, but the feeling of being so totally, utterly spent takes the edge off, blurs the pain into something bearable, something temporary that he only has to feel a little longer until Morfessa unties him.

He starts to worry when, after what feels like several more minutes, she still doesn’t pull her cock all the way out.

_Surely she’s not–_

But of course she is. This is Lady Morfessa, after all.

“We’re not done yet,” she says, as if she _knows_. He can practically hear the smirk in her voice. Lifting his hips, she slides into him again. “I still have post-orgasmic temperature measurements to consider, after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've started writing an original novel so I'm outputting even less fic than normal, sorry. You should follow my twitter @cosmowreath anyway because I need people to yell about new Vanguard episodes with.
> 
> Also because I wrote it in one single burst of sudden motivation/insanity this is not beta read at all so please let me know of any mistakes or weirdness or shitty bits. Fun fact I wrote this with proper indentation like a real Novelist but it didn't paste to Ao3 right so You Get None Of It


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